Kiara Moriarty, Consulting Criminal Junior
by Valkyrie Of The Dead
Summary: Kiara Moriarty is the daughter of the consulting criminal, and loves him with all her heart. But what happens when she meets Sherlock Holmes? Set somewhere after SiB but before TRF. Edit: Now after TRF...
1. Prologue

**Another started fanfiction. Yay! Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this one as I enjoy writing it...  
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Obviously.**

I smile when I see that my attacker is as tired as I am. I block the knife he's trying to stab into my abdomen, and jump forward to cut into his arm. He blocks as well and I frown slightly. This one is good. This one is very good.  
One the barely audible whisper of a knife moving rapidly through air warns me as another attacker comes from behind me. It's luck now, fifty-fifty chance what he is trying to do. He either thinks I haven't heard him and will lunge directly at me, or he knows that I know that he's there, and will do a circle with his knife. In a split-second, I decide to risk it and jump backwards, turning slightly so I can see where the second attacker is. I was right. But then again, he had been very quiet, and I had been lucky that the sounds of my fight with the other attacker had stopped in that exact moment, if just for a second.  
When I suddenly feel a sharp, hot pain in my ribs, I curse myself. I had been thinking too much and hesitated for a second. The first attacker had used that moment of unawareness to attack.  
I fall to the floor and try my hardest not to scream while the electricity curses through me. When my body finally stops twitching, I look up to my attackers.  
David smiles and stretches his hand out. I take it and he pulls me to my feet. Andy chuckles and pats my shoulder.  
"You alright, kid?" he asks and I nod.  
"Kiara!" a voice says and I look up. A man stands outside of the ring we were fighting in and looks at me.  
"Father," I answer and smile. I haven't seen him for a few days and it's always nice to have him back.  
"You did well until David came. You need to concentrate, Kiara, that was foolish. Even a ten year old could have killed you in that moment." He chides me. I bow my head and nod. It's not that I am going to cry or that I don't understand, but I am disappointed in myself. Finally Father is back and the first thing I do is embarrass myself.  
"You did well, spitfire. Just don't get distracted any more." He tells me and I nod again.  
"Continue," He commands and this time David is my first attacker.  
The steam coming from the shower calms me and I can feel myself relaxing. Not entirely, of course, but a bit. It will help when I am finally under it.

I take off my clothes and step under the water. It is hot, nearly too hot, but I enjoy it. The water makes my red hair go dark, and it clings to my skin. As I wash the sweat of my skin, I smile. Everything is perfect. Father is home and so am I. It's rare, but when it happens, I am happy.

I go downstairs when I hear quiet movements in the kitchen. Father is cooking and singing at the same time and I join in. We both love this song, it's Father's ringtone, and exactly that damned phone goes off right now. I hate that phone. It reminds me of many things, all of them bad. All the countless time when it had interrupted our day and Father had to leave, all the times when he would call with exactly that phone and tell me to run and hide, which I had done so many times in the fifteen years I have been on this world, or my worst memory, when he had left me for two years and I had nothing but that damned phone. But Father still keeps it and I don't say anything.  
Father frowns at the text he received and sighs, closing his eyes. I know not to interrupt him now, even though I want to, i want to scream at him not to leave me again, I want to grab the damn thing out of his hands and smash it on the floor. But I don't, because I don't dare. I don't want to imagine what he might do.  
His eyes snap open and he looks at me, up and down, and smiles. I smile back shyly, even though I'm singing and dancing on the inside. This is a special smile. It means that he wants me to do something, and only I ever get it. It is one of his most genuine smiles, and in that smile I can see how much he loves me.  
"I need you to do something, Spitfire. Will you do that for me? Will you help me?" He asks and I smile again. He only asks me. He commands the others. But I am special, and I know that I'll always do everything for him, just so I can see that smile and so that he will be proud of me.  
"Yes, Father," I answer and smirk. "Of course I will."

**So... Chapter one... I hope you don't mind that this chapter didn't really tell much... But it was necessary! So, what do you think, who is _Kiara_?  
****Please review! Or PM me! Or... I don't know, just pleeeeeaaaaase do one of the two!**

**-Valkyrie**


	2. The Job?

**Okay, chapter two... **

I wake up the next morning feeling as refreshed and happy as I hadn't in a long time. It is slightly depressing to know that my happiness depends so much on Father's well-being and presence, but I don't really want it any other way. I don't want to cut myself off him and his weird and wonderful being. A look at my watch tells me it is eight o'clock and I know that I need to get up. Father told me to be downstairs at half eight to discuss the plan and I want to be ready.

After a quick shower I put on jeans and a t-shirt and go downstairs barefoot and with my wet hair on a towel I have around my shoulders.

Although I am early, Father is already sitting there, concentrating on a folder with data I don't recognise, but I don't ask. I know that he will tell me everything I need to know. He looks up when I enter and I smile at him before I go to the fridge. Before long the eggs and the bacon are sizzling in the pan and I turn around, leaning on the counter.

"Father," I say and look at him expectantly.

"Spitfire. I will tell you soon, don't worry, but let's eat first, shall we?" Happiness spreads through my body as I hear him calling me that name. It's his nickname for me, and he doesn't use it very often, just when he's pleased. That he used it three times in less than twenty-four hours is almost a high score. I nod and turn back to our breakfast.

When the food is ready, I put it on plates and give one to Father, and I feel my happiness once again when he smiles at me.

"So, Spitfire, I have a job for you. I think you are ready to do this one, it is a harder one. But still, you should be able to master it without problems if you don't get distracted." He smirks and I can feel myself blush. He touches my cheek and I look in his eyes again, as he starts to explain what he wants me to do.

One hour later I rise from my chair. My job is at midnight, so I have the whole day to myself, even though I'm not allowed to really train. Some easy stuff yes, but Father doesn't want to risk me getting hurt before this job.

With my father's permission, I send a text to one of my best and closest friends, although I don't have many. I still think she's an amazing friend and she is. She is one of the few who I let come close to me and who Father approves of.

_Irene.  
_She will know who I am, and I am right, barely ten seconds later my phone makes the text alert noise.  
_Sweetie. I have time in ten. Xxx_

I smirk and go outside to catch a cab. It isn't hard, the cabs around here know me and know that I do give good tips. Father doesn't.

Exactly ten minutes later I stand in front of a small, but elegant brick house. Irene moves quite a lot, but the last time I met her she lived here and she hasn't given me another address.

Kate opens the door for me and I greet her with a nod. She smiles back and leads me into the cosy living room. I sit there and can't help but admire Irene's amazing sense of design. The room is held in warm colours and the small fireplace is lit. A few moments later The Woman enters in all her beauty and I jump up and go to hug her. Even though she is about twenty years older than me and I can always talk to her. It's not that I can't do the same with Father, he would have time for me, if not much, but still. There are some things a girl doesn't really want to talk about with her father.

I kiss her on both cheeks and then pull away to admire the dress she's wearing. The creamy-white fabric hugs her body and shows her curves off. Around her neck she's wearing a golden necklace with a tiny diamond, which makes her look beautiful, but somehow shy and innocent at the same time. I giggle at that, Irene is beautiful, but she is neither shy nor innocent.

I laugh about her confused face and when I explain everything it takes ages until we stop laughing. I notice only then that Kate is gone and we haven't got tea or similar. It isn't hard to make the deduction.

"Just had a client?" I ask and she smirks.

"I bet he didn't take it too well... Did you drug him?" I wonder and I know that I am right when she smiles mysteriously. Even though I know I shouldn't, I feel sympathy towards that unknown person. Irene drugged me once because I dared to threaten her and I can still remember the confusion, nausea and fear that came with it. Not to mention the pain of her riding crop on my arms, ribs and back. She is my friend now, so I will not do it again, but even if she wasn't, I'd only go against her with Father on my side.

When she leads me into her bedroom I can feel the happiness again. I wonder why I'm so happy today, but I don't know, and honestly, I don't mind.

We both take our clothes off and she cuffs me to the bed. She teases, and I hate and love it at the same time. Then my brain stops and I surrender to the mixture of pleasure and pain.

At about twelve I hug her and say goodbye to Kate. Even though every second I spend with Irene is wonderful, I always go after less than four hours. I don't want to get addicted to her and I normally I don't have this much time.

After a shouting match with a cabbie, I am home in fifteen minutes. It doesn't take long to change into fresh clothes in which I can train, and after ten minutes I've also found Andy and David. It doesn't need much to convince them to train with me, as I know them since I was five. After a careful but thorough warm-up, Andy and I start fighting with sticks. We are careful and move pretty slow because we don't want to hurt each other today. Yesterday was different, although we use safe weapons most of the time which can't really kill anyone, every third day we use knifes, which aren't sharp but have a taser with a low voltage in them, so that if we would really hurt each other with real knifes, we just get stunned. It isn't very pleasant, but we started something like a competition between us three, who could shock the others the most. The reason why Father told us to use them was that we wouldn't lose the fear of weapons.

Six hours later I am tired, but not overly so. Nothing a good nap wouldn't change, so I go upstairs and shower. Father already put out some clothes he wants me to wear while I'm doing the job and I have to admit, they are good. The soft fabric won't make any sound when I move and it is grey-black. It is perfect, as the mixture of light and dark with blend in perfectly while I'm in dark corners. Black wouldn't do, it wouldn't hide me, it would make me stand out as a black figure.

I put on a wide top and sweatpants and go to my bed. As soon as my head touches my pillow, I'm out.

I wake up at eleven pm and get up quietly. I'm dressed in no time and I go downstairs to Father's study. There is a ray of light beneath the door so I knock and enter. Father is reading that folder again, and puts one finger up to tell me to be quiet. I wait patiently until he looks up.

"It's time, Father. Is there anything else I can do while I'm on the job?" I ask and he shakes his head.

"The car is waiting for you. I'll see you tomorrow, Kiara." He says and I walk forward and touch his cheek with my fingertips. It is our way of saying I love you. I have never received a kiss from him and I don't mind. It is just the meaning you put to a gesture that so many people need, and when you change the art of doing it, but not the meaning, it doesn't matter. He doesn't hug me any more, but that means nothing. He only ever did it when I was scared, and that didn't happen any more.

Father smiles and touches my cheek as well.

"Have fun," he jokes and I leave.

Father's car drops me off at the biggest museum of London and I look up to it in awe. It is my second time I have been here and the last was a few years ago. I put my pony-tail in my hood and start picking the lock. Finally it clicks and I go inside.

There isn't any disturbance until I reach the second floor. It's not much, but I can see a bit of dirt on the floor and there are disturbances in the dust. No fingerprints, the other intruder must have worn gloves. I am pretty sure no one is in here any more, as the front-door was locked when I came and no one could have gone past me. Because – who would lock the door again before he left?

I walk into two more rooms and freeze before I enter the third. I can hear movements in the room before me and I can't help being worried. I was quiet while I walked in here, but not so that you couldn't hear me at all. Footsteps come closer and I hide next to the door. Then I can get a good glimpse of the man. He is only a bit taller than me and wearing all black. I nearly chuckle at that, but stop myself and attack him instead. I want to know what he does here and I can't risk hiding for he would have an advantage, if he were to find me.

He lets out a startled shout of surprise which turns into a shout of pain when I use my knife to cut through his biceps. But he is quick and he is good. If I had to guess I'd say trained fighter, but I can't be sure. I know it was a bad idea to attack him when he manages to disarm me after a minute. I was trained my whole life for jobs like this and I don't want to know how good this man really is when he is able to disarm me this fast.

I jump towards him and he neatly steps out of my way. I stumble slightly which he uses instantly. He kicks my leg and I fall to my knees. Only barely I manage to roll out of his way and away from the kick which would have hit my head and rendered me unconscious within seconds. I get up gasping for air and am frustrated when I see that the man is out of breath, but not as much as I am.

The next seconds are a blur. When I try to hit him, he catches my arm and flips me over his shoulder. The impact knocks all air out of me and I struggle in a hopeless attempt to get up again, even though I know I won't succeed. Suddenly I feel a heavy weight on my chest as he pins my arms next to my head with his knees and puts pressure on my shoulders, so I don't have any chance of getting free. The weight stops me from struggling as he sits with his knees on the pressure-points in my wrists. The pain makes my eyes water, but I stare defiantly up at him when he removes my hood. His eyes widen in surprise when he sees that I am a fifteen year old girl. Finally I get a good look at him. He is in his late thirties or early forties and has blond, but greying hair which is cut in a short style. His face would look kind, if he weren't pinning me down and hurting me at the moment. I suppose the fact that he is staring at me with his narrowed blue eyes and a grim expression on his face is a big factor as well.

"Sherlock!" He shouts and all my hope vanishes. Sherlock... The odds that he isn't who I think he is are small. And if he is, I have a problem. Another pair of footsteps comes rushing towards us, not bothering to be quiet, and the man who makes these footsteps is shouting.

"John? JOHN?" He calls with a deep baritone voice, but I can't really concentrate. The pain in my wrists is getting worse and I am desperately trying to figure out an escape plan.

Then the new man bursts into the room and I can't stop the tear that runs down my face and into my hair. Father told me a lot about him. That man is responsible for Father's absence of ten weeks that are burnt into my memories as the dark days. Father picked me up and continued where we had left, but from then on he was the middle of my universe. And exactly that man, Sherlock Holmes, is now here in the room, as his companion John Watson is holding me down on the ground. And he is still working against Father.

Watson looks up to Holmes and tells him with a quick nod that he's okay. I can see Holmes shoulders sagging with relief and store that away for later. Of course, Father told me that the two of them were close, but I didn't realise how close. Now I do, and I know that at some point of our encounter I will be able to use it.

My knife is lying just a few feet away. Maybe – yes! Holmes and Watson aren't concentrating properly on me and I know that this could be my only chance. I twist my hip and push upwards with my shoulders and Watson falls off me. He is stunned for a moment, I think he hit his head quite hard. I am already on top of him and desperately searching with my right for the knife, when somebody else, probably Holmes, grabs me by my collar and pulls me up. My collar chokes me and I stagger backwards, right in the arms of Holmes. He is quick, he really his, maybe even quicker than Watson, as he puts his arm around my neck. I am now in a choke hold and because Holmes is so much taller than I am, I can only stand as straight as possible, for the choke would get worse if I didn't. Before I can even think about struggling, I feel the cold metal of a gun on my temple and I stay still.

How is this possible? It should have been an open and shut job, Father would never let me go otherwise. That means that Holmes is faster than Father believes. And that is bad.

Holmes shakes me and asks me for my name repeatedly but I think I am getting a panic attack. I can only guess, I've never had one before...

"Sherlock," Watson warns and Holmes makes me sit down, the gun still trained on my head. His aim doesn't waver. Watson comes towards me but I cannot look at him. My chest feels too small, I can't breathe, the cold metal on my temple is spreading out and taking over my heart, stomach and lungs...

"Sherlock, point that damn thing somewhere else!" Watson says harshly and after a moment the cold metal on my temple leaves. Watson puts his hands on my shoulders and tells me to breath with him, and slowly I can breath again. I look at him, almost gratefully and now I can see the kind smile that I knew belonged on his face.

"What's your name, sweetie?" he asks, but I don't answer. I can't. If they found out who I am... He seems to give up now, and just looks at me. Suddenly Holmes gasps and I feel a sharp pain on the back of my head. While I'm falling, falling, falling backwards I realise that he hit me over the head with the gun. And in the split-second before I close my eyes, I hear Holmes's voice.

"Moriarty! She's his daughter."

And then everything goes black.

**What do you think? Please R&R!**


	3. 221B Bakerstreet

**Chapter 3! They have met...**

**Disclaimer: I forgot this the last times... I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters of the show, just Kiara and the plot bunny...**

The first thing I hear are raised voices. They sound familiar, but I can't match them to any name. There are two men, arguing, shouting, about something my groggy head couldn't understand. Finally I am able to open my eyes I can see that I am not, in fact, at home. I am sitting in an uncomfortable wooden chair with arm rests. The next thing I realise is that I can't move. Someone secured my arms on the armrests and my ankles on the legs of the chair with tape. There is some tape around my upper arms and the back of the chair, probably to keep me from falling forward. Somehow I am grateful for that, as that would have been even more embarrassing.

I look around the room I am sitting in. The walls are dark, and so is the floor and most of the furniture, but still the room manages to look cosy and inviting. The voices I can hear come from behind me, so there must be at least another room. Then I start to notice little things. There are burn marks on the small coffee-table in front of the sofa, a bison skull with head-phones on the wall and on the mantelpiece sits a human skull. It looks pretty real and I frown. Where am I?

The voices behind me get louder and more distinctive.

"We can't just keep her here, Sherlock! She is a fifteen year old girl, we are going to be in trouble anyway for sneaking into the museum and hitting her like that!" Watson shouts.

Holmes' voice is not as loud, but just as angry, a dark, dangerous growl.

"Even if Lestrade arrests her, he wouldn't be able to hold her for long. Either way, she would be out seconds after we leave the building! Think about who her father is, John. He won't choose to let her stay there." Watson is quiet for a second, but when he answers, he sounds really angry.

"I know, Sherlock. How could I not?" Holmes doesn't know the answer and I am left very confused.

I can hear Watson leaving the room and coming towards me. I look up when he stands in front of me. He looks at me and smiles kindly.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, but I just stare at him. How am I supposed to feel? I feel sore and beaten and my head is throbbing.

Watson asks me a few questions to check whether or not I have a concussion, but because I obviously don't have one, he moves around me again and carefully touches the wound at my temple. I hiss when he starts looking at it.

"You're lucky. Sherlock didn't actually damage anything that won't heal within a week, so I think you're fine," he says quietly.

When I hear Holmes walking towards us, I know that this was just the beginning.

"Miss Moriarty, I am surprised to see you – Actually I didn't think you existed. But anyway, how is your dear father?" he asks with his smooth voice, but I only glare at him. He sighs and looks at me, really looks at me, and I feel somehow exposed. He frowns, but doesn't comment on it when he looks at my face again.

"Moriarty, I don't think you are in the position to really pull this through. Because, even though you think you are safe because you listened to our conversation just then, you should remember a thing I said to your father a few years ago: I don't have a heart. So, Moriarty, tell me what I want to know, or... Well, let's say not only your father knows how to hide a body." He smirks a little and for one second I am really scared. But then my anger takes over.

"Did you know I have a first name, Mr Holmes? I don't expect you to know it, but still, you might use it. My name is Kiara Moriarty, I am the daughter of James Moriarty, the consulting criminal, and I think neither him nor you will be too happy if he had to attack you. Father is a very busy man, so I suggest you just let me go now and I might forget to mention this little encounter to Father."I say quietly, but angrily. Holmes just chuckles.

"I haven't seen him in a long time. Now, _Kiara_, I think... yes, we'll need to have a little break in our meeting. Lestrade will be here in a few minutes, and I don't think we'll tell him yet that you're here. John?" he answers me, just as quiet, but not angry, rather amused.

Watson uses a knife to cut me free, but keeps his hand on my shoulder. When I stand up, my knees buckle. How long was I out? Watson catches me and chuckles.

"Come on then, Kiara," he says, "Do you think you can manage stairs?"

I think for a moment, but shake my head. Firstly because I really don't trust my legs enough, but also to keep my escape route short. Watson smiles and leads me to a door, which opens into a bedroom. The room is, other than the living room, tidy and almost blanc. On the wall is a poster with the periodic table and on the small table next to the bed is a picture of Edgar Allan Poe. The bed itself is a double bed, with thick, creamy-white sheets, but it doesn't look very used.

I sit down on the bed and look up to Watson.

"Kiara, we have a problem. Well, Sherlock and I do. We can't really let you go. Your father does know where we live and how we live and everything, so we don't think you're a spy, but if you are like your father, then... Well, we don't want another consulting criminal. But first, do you really know who your father is and what he does?" he asks quietly. I frown at him, but answer anyway.

"Of course I do. Father is James 'Jim' Moriarty, consulting criminal, he organises crimes. Happy?" Watson just sighs. I don't really know what to do. He seems nice, and I think in another life I would have liked him. But he is the best friend of Father's nemesis.

"Kiara, I... I am sorry for Sherlock's and my rude behaviour, but your father caused us both quite much trouble. To be honest, there isn't really a plan about what to do with you. But for now, I'm sorry, I need to give you a sedative. We can't really trust you to be quiet, when Lestrade is quite a good escape route. Take your shoes off, will you, and then lie down, okay?"

I do as I am told and he takes a small needle out of his pocket. With the small pin-prick comes the numbness, and I sleep.

**So, what did you think? I think it was rather boring, but it was necessary... Please R&R, I love reviews! More to come!**

**-Valkyrie**


	4. I Am My Father's Daughter

**And here's chapter 4! Thanks to the favs and ther followers...**

**I still only own Kiara... :(**

I was brought up in a quite weird way. I started taking drugs with permission of Father when I was nine. Of course not that much, but it was and still is my training against drugs. My resistance against drugs is quite well, especially with some drugs. A few months ago, in the Dark Days, I had taken drugs every day and without a care. Father's absence was painful for me, and the drugs were my soothing hand. In fact, the day Father came back, I was so high I was sure he was a hallucination. He made me go through withdrawal for a week and under his command I started my training again, although this time just with sedatives.

I remember all this when I wake up, though I keep my eyes closed. I strain my ears in the hope to find out where Watson and Holmes are. It isn't hard, neither them nor the third man, who are in the living room, are quiet. They are arguing, and I smile widely. The third man is probably Lestrade, and he is - what did Watson say? - a good escape route.

Without making a sound, I get up and start looking through the drawers. Maybe Holmes, I am pretty sure this is his room, has got something I can use. After all, he must have many enemies. And I am lucky – in the top drawer of his night stand is a small handgun with bullets. I put them in the gun and pick it up. It feels good in my hand, it isn't as big as the ones Father has and my hands are quite small. I might even keep this one.

I can still hear the arguing, especially the voice of Lestrade, so I am sure I still have time. With a bit of luck they didn't search me – and yes, today seems to be the day of extremes, I have a lot of luck, but also a lot of bad luck. Father often tells me off, but I never change it; my I-phone is on silent. Today I am grateful for that. Watson told me Father has surveillance on them, so maybe I can use that. I touch the 'fail-safe' button Father told me only to touch in an emergency and hope it will be helpful. I have never done so before, as I am scared of what Father might do when he finds out, and he will find out.

The screen shows a lot of buttons. There are many that I don't understand, but the last one is labelled 'Database'. I open it and breath in sharply. In it are all of Father's apps, one of them surveillance. On the top of the list which now opens is something called '221B'. I can barely stop myself from laughing out loud, and tap on it. There, I can see the living room, and in it Watson, Holmes and the man who I think is Lestrade. No problem. I put my phone in my pocket, leaving the app open, and grip the gun with both hands. When I kick the door open, everyone looks at me in surprise and I suppress a smirk.

"Hands up, now!" I say loudly and point the gun at Lestrade. As all of them comply, I go closer to Lestrade and finally touch his temple with the barrel of the gun. In his eyes is a flash of fear, then he opens his mouth to protest, but I tap with the gun against his head. He closes his mouth again and I smile.

"Mr Holmes, explain!" I order, and Holmes frowns, but does so when I glare at him.

"This charming girl is Kiara Moriarty, daughter of Jim Moriarty, consulting criminal, the bomber. Yesterday when John and I were in the museum at night for a case, she attacked John, he overpowered her and after I deduced who she was, we rendered her unconscious. John and I planned to question her, knowing that if we called you, she would be freed by Moriarty as soon as we left the building. So, we kept her here, and then you came." He says in a strained voice.

"Well done, Mr Holmes. Didn't think you would be bothered by me pointing a gun at Mr DI. Anyway, thank you very much, Dr Watson, for your flattering view of my innocence when you think about drugs. It has been very useful, and also your comment about Mr DI being an escape route." I smile at him, but he doesn't do the same.

"Kiara," he says, "think about what you are doing! Do you really want to kill this man?"

"Yes. Now, shut up, in the moment you are my favourite of you three, but that might change. Anyway, you all know that Father has surveillance on this flat. I have access to it. You two are going to sit in your chairs while Mr DI and me are going. If you two are moving as much as a muscle, idiot will die. If you are good, I'll let him go. I will communicate with you via the speakers in the flat, as in when you are allowed to move. Understood?" I say in the same light tone I used in the whole conversation. Both of them nod and at my sign, sit down in their chairs, but still with their hands up.

"As soon as idiot and I are outside the house, you may take your hands down, but don't you dare move otherwise! Pleasure meeting you, Mr Holmes, Dr Watson. Come on, Mr DI," I command, and point the gun now at Lestrade's back with my right hand. With the left I pull out my phone.

Once outside the house Holmes and Watson take their arms down, but to my surprise, neither of them speak or move, if you don't count Holmes searching for cameras only with his eyes. Two hundred yards away the is a little alley and I push Lestrade in it. I turn off the micro of my phone and smile.

"Pleasure meeting you, DI Lestrade." I say, and hit him over the head with the gun. He is unconscious instantly and drops to the ground. After I leave the alley, I smile at a security camera, and then go and hail a taxi. Luckily, the cabbie doesn't notice the gun I now have in my pocket and I tell him a street which is next to the one with our house. After that I turn my micro on again and look at the screen. Both Holmes and Watson are still sitting in their chairs, but are talking to each other.

"Sherlock, we need to do something! I don't think she will kill Lestrade, but what if she takes him to Moriarty?" Watson whispers.

"John, there's nothing we can do at the moment, but as soon as we're free, I'll talk to Mycroft, so-" Holmes answers but I cut him off.

"You do know that I can hear you?" I ask in a curious voice and smirk when they jump, "Who's Mycroft, by the way?"

Holmes frowns, but answers anyway. "My brother. I think your father knows him. You will meet him soon enough because I will find you, Kiara!" At the end of the sentence he is nearly shouting.

"No you won't!" I say in a sing-song voice and laugh when both of them cringe. I want to say something else, but the cabbie interrupts me and I turn the micro off again.

"We're here, Miss," he tells me and I smile at him. I throw a couple of notes in his hands and suppress a laugh when his eyes widen because of the amount of money.

"Thank you, sir, keep the change. Have a good day," I tell him and walk away. When he's far enough away, I turn the micro on again.

"So my boys, you and idiot have been incredibly well behaved. So, no, I won't turn him over to Father, but..." I shoot a tree, which sounds surprisingly similar as shooting a human.

"Good bye, Mr Holmes, Dr Watson," I say to both of them, who are sitting there in a stunned silence and start walking towards our house.

"LESTRADE!" roars Sherlock and jumps up and the despair, shock and grief is visible on both his and Watson's face.

"Moriarty! You told us you would let him go, you told us he would survive if we do what you tell us!" Watson is nearly crying and I laugh.

"I did, Dr Watson. But there is one thing you both forgot. I am my father's daughter. Oh and by the way, you can move now. See ya, boys..."

And with that I turn my phone off. I run the few yards to our doorstep and ring the bell frantically. My key is inside because the plan was that Father's chauffeur would pick me up, so I am practically begging that someone is inside. To my surprise, Father opens the door and hugs me when he sees me.

"Spitfire! Spitfire, Smiths told me what happened. When he went to pick you up he saw you were carried out of the museum by Sherlock Holmes, he called me instantly. How did you escape?" he asks and I am overwhelmed.

"Oh god, Spitfire, just come inside and tell me then." He ushers me inside and shouts for Andy and David to make something to eat and a hot chocolate. Finally I sit with him in his study drinking my hot chocolate and I tell him the whole story.

"They will pay, Spitfire, they will pay." He says and for a split-second I feel sympathy for Holmes and Watson. I don't want to be them when Father gets his revenge.

**Yes, Kiara is a bit mean. But when you think about it, she could be a lot worse, with Moriarty as a father... Please review! I'd like to know what you think, what parts you like, which ones could be better... Oh and I know that Moriarty is a bit OOC, but I was wondering maybe he does all that to protect Kiara... Dunno...**

**-Valkyrie ;)**


	5. I Love you, Spitfire I'm Sorry

**Here's chapter 5! Sorry for the wait, I was on holidays... Hope you enjoy! Btw, I don't own them. Obviously. Just Kiara.**

In the next few months Father keeps me in the house. He won't let me outside, not even with guards because he is scared. On my birthday we go out though. He comes with me and it is one of the most amazing days of my life. I only see Holmes and Watson in the papers, getting more and more famous as Father is searching for a way to get his revenge.

Three months after my encounter with Holmes and Watson, he calls me to his study.

"Spitfire, the plan is ready. From now on, you will not see me for a bit. I will be arrested and in court, but that doesn't matter. You will be safe afterwards." He says and touches my cheek when one tear falls from my eyes.

On the next day, he breaks into the Tower, the Pentonville Prison and the Bank of London at the same time. As he said, he is arrested and I have to wait six weeks for the court case. Needless to say, I am on drugs again the whole time, light drugs and sedatives, but drugs non the less.

Father comes back after the trial. He is found not guilty, and when I ask he tells me he threatened the jury. He also wants me to get clean again and one day later, he leaves again. When I read in the papers on the day after that Sherlock Holmes was a fraud and committed suicide, I shake my head. I met him and I don't think he is a fraud – he is dead now and I am safe, but I can't help feeling a bit queasy. My only worries are where Father is.

Andy comes to me, sad, and gives me a letter.

"He told us to give it to you only if something really bad happens. We got the news today. I am sorry, Kiara, your father... He is dead. He shot himself. I – I saw his body, and made sure that he would be buried properly, I can tell you where he is." He says and I can only stare at him for a second. Andy isn't ready for my sudden attack, and I manage to get him to the floor, crying and screaming. He is lying. He must be! Why should Father shoot himself? That was ridiculous. Andy doesn't defend himself when I hit him and hit him. I don't now how much time passes or what exactly happens, but the next thing I really notice is me lying on him, crying into his already soaked through shirt while he is hugging me.

"Shush, Kiara, shush. I'm so sorry." He whispers and I nod. After I get up and pull him into the kitchen, he takes his phone out and shows me the picture of my father, lying dead on a slab, with the exit wound of the bullet on the back of his head. I don't know why, but his eyes are still open, and are staring up, up, up, into nothingness. I reach the sink only barely and vomit into it. I know that I have to believe it now, but the sight of his eyes, so hart and crazy and cruel against other people and so kind and caring when he looked at me are now lifeless and don't mean anything any more.

After a few minutes I stop retching and Andy gives me a glass of water and I nod gratefully. Then I open F – _his _letter.

_Spitfire._

_If you ever read this it means I am dead or dying and I am so, so sorry for that. I think they told you what happened. As I'm writing this, I know that Sherlock Holmes and I will meet. He will have committed suicide and died as a fraud because I will have snipers threatening John Watson, Martha Hudson and Gregory Lestrade._

_Believe me when I write that I don't want to leave you. I'm not planning to do so, but if it is the only way of saving you, then I will not hesitate. Spitfire, I want you to know that however way I die, it is not your fault. If I die jumping in front of a bus because it might safe your life, it is NOT your fault. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise._

_Spitfire, I left you a bank account with twenty-five-thousand pounds on it. It is under the name Kiara Josephina Johnson for the case that my plan to discredit Holmes and make James Moriarty disappear fails. There is a small safe in your room behind your wardrobe. The combination for it is the PIN you used on your first phone. I'm not writing it down here because of the fear that this letter might fall in the wrong hands._

_In that safe will be the card for the bank account, a new passport, a new birth certificate and some other documents you might need. _

_Sebastian Moran will take my place. He will inherit everything except one thing. I have changed your fail-safe app. No-one will know if and when you click on it. You have access to most information, unless Sebastian changes anything, but I doubt that. You can't change anything though. Your involvement will be practically untraceable. _

_Spitfire, I am scared. I know my plan to discredit Holmes is working in the moment. But if you read this, then something must have gone wrong. I don't want to leave you and I am scared of what will happen to you. _

_One more thing. Even if I'm gone, don't waste away. You are my fire, my flame, and I don't want to extinguish it by dying. Do whatever you want. I won't think bad of you if you swap sides, I won't think bad of you if you join Sebastian. But I want you to be happy, that is my last request._

_I love you, Spitfire. I am sorry._

_Jim Moriarty, consulting criminal_

I didn't notice when exactly the tears start to fall, but my face, my hands and parts of the paper are wet. Andy comes and hugs me again, as I sit quietly by the window and disobey.

Everything Father said in his letter is true. I found the safe with all its contents. Father told me to be happy and don't feel guilty, but I disobey. My heart is breaking everyday again and I can't stand it. I won't go into Father's study now, and after a look in his bedroom I have to run to the toilet and vomit. Andy and David are there, but it's not the same. Father is gone and even though he wasn't here that much, and sometimes it feels like he will just walk through the door and scold me for taking so many drugs, heavy drugs, now, but he won't and although my head knows it my heart won't accept it.

I know that I'm wasting away. I see the looks in David's and Andy's eyes every time they think I can't see. They are sad about Father's death as well, but me being like this hurts them more. But I somehow like it. I like to disobey because he didn't hold his promise either. Because he isn't here to scold or punish me.

Now one really understands and accepts my grief. Well, there is one man who would if he knew what I am going through. That I am going through this phase of grief as well. John Watson. I see him on the papers or the news quite often, he's limping and using that cane again. He is thinner than the one I remember and looks a lot older as well. The thought that I could defeat him easily now crosses my mind, until I realise that I am in no shape for that, I am as bad as he is. He is being accused and bullied and offended by the press but he stands his ground: Jim Moriarty was real and so was Sherlock. I admire him for that.

Somehow that one thought pulls me out of my trance. I see myself clearly now: a drug-addict. No one important any more, not Kiara Moriarty, not Spitfire. Just someone. It hurts, but I know I needed that realisation.

Andy and David are overjoyed. The first time we train they think I am still as good as I was and we use the taser-knifes. We throw them in a dark corner after that. My strength and stamina is gone and I need a few months to get back to my old status.

In that time I learn how Sebastian Moran commands Father's empire. I don't like it. He seems to think he is better than Father and doesn't hesitate to say that out loud. The carefully designed web father had put so much effort in nearly breaks. All the fine threads are gone after a month because Moran couldn't control them, and the bigger threads are wavering.

Nine months after Father's death I decide to do something. I cut myself loose from Moran and run away. I try to do this twice, the first time I confide in David and Andy, and although I trust them completely and they would never betray me, they hold me back. They say it is too dangerous and not what my father wanted. But the second time I succeed. With my fail-safe app I look into the database, and also in 221B. Watson is there. But it doesn't look the same. Dust is nearly everywhere, and he doesn't seem to care. He is still mourning, mourning for Holmes. I figure that the only reason why I'm not in the same state is that I know the reason why Father is dead. Watson just knows Holmes committed suicide but doesn't know why.

When I look into Holmes bedroom, I frown. It is worse here. If it weren't for the dust, I might have thought Holmes left only moments ago. There is one jacket on a chair and even though the bed is made, there are slight creases on it. The wardrobe door is slightly open. Yes. John Watson is still mourning. And he won't stop for a long time. I don't know why it makes me feel queasy, but it does.

One week later I am in Paris. I rent out a little flat there under the name of my bank account, but I can't stay indoor this night. The small club I saw when I walked through the streets to find the flat is still open, so I dress up a bit and go. On the fake passport I am already nineteen, but nobody asks about my age and I enter.

The night is loud, I am tipsy and I enjoy it all. The next day I go there again. When I leave this time, I see someone, someone familiar. I know I saw him yesterday as well, but I can't believe it's him. The night ends and I leave without talking to him.

**What do you think? Who did Kiara see? R&R!**

**-Valkyrie**


	6. John Harrison

**First of all, thank you to all who are still with me...  
I'msorrymylove: Thanks for the favs and follows, you made my day. And, no, it's okay...**

**Sooooo did you guess who Kiara saw? Well, let's see whether you were right. Here's chapter 6!**

The next night I am prepared. I kept the little handgun I stole from Holmes a bit over a year ago and I hide it in my dress. The man I saw is dancing with a woman I don't know, but I have time. I order a drink and wait.

After some time, the woman kisses him on the cheek and leaves. This is my chance and I know it. I am behind him, so I walk up to him and ask him for a dance with a deeper voice than usual. The moment he turns around I am already incredibly close to him and press the gun against his stomach. His eyes widen for a moment, but there's nothing he can do, the gun is hidden between us, his jacket and my dress block the view.

"I heard somewhere you were dead, Mr Holmes," I say quietly with my normal voice so that the others won't notice. I put my free hand onto his neck and he stiffens even more. I can feel his cool breath against my face while he is looking around, searching for an opportunity. His head is practically smoking.

"Why don't you come with me, I think we have some catching up to do," I whisper and lead him with the gun on his abdomen and my hand on his neck to the edge of the dancing area. From there we go through the 'Staff Only' door and into a dark alley.

"Miss Moriarty. I thought you were in London?" he asks politely and I smile.

"My name is Kiara Josephina Johnson for now... And, as you can see, I am not." I answer him and he smirks.

"Well, my name is John Harrison, Miss Johnson..." He whispers. I know since our first meeting that he is quick. But I think he is even quicker now. He uses his left hand to push the gun up and the right to push me away. He isn't quick enough though, as I pull the trigger and the bullet goes straight through his left arm while he's turning slightly. He gasps and curses, but I am close again. While I press the gun against his back and stretch up and whisper in his ear, "Not really a good move, Mr Harrison," but he just curses slightly and presses with the palm of his right hand against the wound.

"Come on, Mr Harrison, my flat is two minutes away," I scold. For the rest of the way he does what I tell him to do.

Once inside I lock the door and tell him to sit at the kitchen table. My second gun is still on there. I flick the security back on my gun and put it into the waistband of my dress, after I got the first aid kit.

"Put both your arms on the table," I say and surprisingly he does what he is told. I use disinfectant and then stitch the wound up. It is nothing serious, barely more than a graze, but I am sure it hurts. When I duck down to cut the thread, I suddenly feel cold metal at the back of my head.

"I can only repeat myself," I say and chuckle, " Not really a good move, Mr Holmes." I push against my second gun gun which he holds and stand up.

"That gun doesn't even have bullets," I explain and ignore his confused face, "Do you really think I'd be stupid enough to leave it on the table otherwise? No, I simply had it done with a bit more metal to compensate. I wouldn't have thought you'd fall for it, though..." I smirk at his glare.

A few minutes later we both sit at the kitchen table with a drink. Holmes looks different now. The basics like face and height are the same, but he looks tired. He has a beard and his hair is longer. His clothes are different, instead of a fine suit and a button down he is wearing jeans and a black t-shirt. His expensive watch isn't on his wrist, instead he is wearing three leather bracelets with little wooden pearls on each arm. I decide that I would have liked this look, if it weren't for everything else. He is thinner than I remember him and his eyes have lost the sparkle. He misses Watson, I'm sure, and that's one of the things I want to talk about.

"Mr Holmes, why aren't _you_ in London? Why do you keep everyone in the dark?" I ask him and he frowns.

"Miss Moriarty, you probably know what your father did. He threatened my friends and if I didn't jump off the roof of St Barts, his snipers would have shot them. To leave me no escape, he shot himself. It was our last meeting, I decided at which place we would meet. With the help of a pathologist at Barts I managed to fake my death... I've been hunting your father's minions ever since." He says quietly.

I can only nod. Tears are threatening to fall, but I don't want to cry in front of Holmes. So that's how and why Father died. To protect me, indeed, and he had paid the final price for it. Then Holmes words sink in.

"That was you? All the threads of Father's web that Moran couldn't hold?" Holmes only nods, so I continue. "Mr Holmes, I want to make a deal with you. I have access to information you don't even dream of. I can tell you about Moran. I can also tell you about your friend, Dr Watson. However... I want Moran killed. He is slandering Father's name. Secondly, I don't mind if we clear your name or anything, or if Jim Moriarty is real again, but don't let anyone slander his name any more. I also want a fair share of the money that Moran has right now. Do you agree?"

He cocks his head to the side and looks at me.

"Are you willing to help me destroy your father's web, clear my name after your father did so much to destroy my reputation and slander your father's name?" He is curious, really curious.

"Yes and no. I will help you to do what you said, but I am not slandering Father's name. He was famous and important as Jim Moriarty, and I don't mind if he gets called consulting criminal or not, because that's what he was, but I want to make sure that everyone knows he did it all for a good reason. The wreaking of your reputation and making you commit suicide for example was revenge for what you did to me and to protect me." I can only whisper the last part, but hold out my hand for him to shake.

He cocks his head again and narrows his eyes, still curious. I smile when I see him like this, he looks almost like he did when I met him first, but still so different. He considers my offer, but I can see how hard it is when he looks quickly over his left shoulder. It puzzles me at first, but then it is obvious. He is turning around to talk to Watson, but sees that he isn't there. My deduction from a year ago was right, he cares a lot for him. He must miss him a lot.

"I could also tell Moran where you are." My voice is as bored as I manage. He pales slightly and answers quickly.

"No! No, you mustn't, he'd kill John..." he whispers.

"What do I care?" I drawl, but I am bluffing. If I tell Moran, then he will find me and he would kill my only chance of destroying Moran.

Holmes doesn't see it. He swallows, and I know he will accept. And I know that the papers were right. Holmes does love Watson. Not how they think, not romantically, but in a platonic way. He loves Watson in brotherly way, Watson is his best friend, after all. Though I correct myself quickly. I met them, even though maybe not in the best way, but still. How they interacted, how they talked. If I had to define them, I'd say soul-mates. Definitely soul-mates.

"Okay, Miss Moriarty. You have a deal. Just... Just don't risk John." Holmes stutters a bit in the end, and I can see that he is scared. Good.

"For a genius like you, I seem to have to repeat myself awfully often, Mr Holmes. My name is Kiara." My lips form a smirk when I see his glare.

I don't know why I say this. He was the nemesis of Father, after all. But I have always been drawn to geniuses. Father, and now Sherlock Holmes. I'm not sure I like him, but I don't hate him like I used to. Maybe it's because I have come to peace with Father's death. I'm still sad and grieving, I am, but I know that he did it to protect me. And what I'm doing right now is something he would have wanted. Revenge. Revenge on Sebastian Moran.

"Very well, Kiara. Mine is Sherlock." He answers and shakes my hand.

"Sherlock. I'd never have thought I'd ever call you that." I say thoughtfully and Sherlock's lips twitch.

"Neither did I."

"So it was you, then?" I ask him suddenly. We are still sitting at the kitchen table, both with a cup of coffee. I offered him tea, but he didn't want any. He told me it was because of Watson. He always made tea. Sherlock looks up and frowns.

"What was me?" he asks and I have the sudden urge to giggle.

"Father's web. I thought it was because of Moran's incompetence, when all the small threads fell and some of the bigger ones started to."

"In a way. The smaller ones fell mostly by themselves because, let's face it, Moran is an idiot. I might hate your father, but at least he was intelligent. Anyway, the wavering was my work. I haven't been very successful, though..." Sherlock muses.

"Moran was furious when he noticed, I think that was a success." I say and to my surprise he smiles slightly. It is a real smile, not his smirk or a fake one, and it reveals that he isn't as far away as one might think. I giggle and soon I can hear a deep chuckle. It takes minutes to calm again.

"Sherlock, when I said I have information, I didn't lie. I also... well, I am able to look into 221B. Your friend still lives there, you know. I... You can look at him, if you want." I say, unsure whether it was the right thing.

Sherlock stares at me, then swallows.

"Can I... I mean, can I look at him? Please?" his voice breaks at the end, and once again I can see how much he misses Watson.

I don't answer, just pull my phone out and click through it all till I can see Watson.

"Here," I say and nearly give it to Sherlock, when I see Watson standing up.

"Who is there?" Watson asks, and I realise that my micro is on.

"Oh, shit." I whisper and quickly turn it off. Luckily Sherlock didn't say anything, otherwise it would have gone really bad.

"Who is there?" Watson asks again and looks around. Both Sherlock and me are shocked by the sight of his face when he looks into the camera for a moment while he is searching for the intruder. He looks older. There are more lines on his face, and his eyes are red and have lost their sparkle. He leans heavily on his cane, his left hand shaking slightly. The army-doctor is very pale and looks extremely tired. It hurts me to see him like that, but that is no comparison to Sherlock. Sherlock's mouth is a thin line, he blinks quickly and clears his throat.

"At least he's alive," he whispers so quietly that I nearly don't hear it.

"Yes, Sherlock, and he will stay that way. But Moran isn't waiting." Guilt and self-hate curse through me as I stop Sherlock from seeing the man he loves. It is hard, but I know that I did right when Sherlock nods and clears his throat again.

"Okay. Explain," He orders and I don't ask how he knows what exactly I was going to do. Taking my phone with me, I stand up and come back with a piece of paper and a pencil.

"Listen, I don't really know how exactly this is built, I just know the basics. Anyway, in the court you described Father's crime organisation fairly well. It is like a web." In the middle of the paper I write Father's name and put a circle around it.

"He's the spider. For Father all his clients were like prey. They would be the caught flies and moths, connected to each others by threads. The spider, Father, had helpers. Men and women he trusted up to a certain degree. He had five of them, and now that he's dead, Moran probably has got a new one. Anyway, those five are the big threads." I draw them on the paper and it starts to look like a mind-map.

"Then there are the medium threads, the ones you already have touched. The flies and moths are big things, like terror-cells, etc. Irene Adler was one of them." It feels weird talking about Irene like this. Then I notice that the last time I saw was the morning of that one fateful job.

"These flies or moths are always connected to two of the big threads. Father could advise them through two people, but the other three wouldn't be able to tell anything to anyone because they simply didn't know. These connections between two of the big threads or the medium threads. And then there are the small threads. Father had almost nothing to do with them. They were the small, boring things. Crimes of passion or similar, most of the times not even organised by Father, but the big threads. He used to do them for the money, the fun and the image. He got the orders for a small crime and gave them to the big threads. It was extra work for them, as soon as he didn't give them to them any more, the small threads fell." I connect the big threads to each other so it looks like a big spider's web. "To destroy the web we can go two ways. Plan 1: We kill Moran and in the hopefully following confusion, all the big threads and theirs second in commands. Plan 2: We kill the threads and the seconds first, and afterwards Moran. I'd go for plan two. We don't know whether there'll be any confusion, and Moran doesn't have that may people he trusts. If we are quick, we should be able to take them out quicker than he can get any new ones."

I look into his eyes and he nods.

"We'll need to be really quick, though, Kiara. I don't think it will be easy, even if I hack into Mycroft's computer."

"Who's Mycroft?" I interrupt him, and he smirks.

"My brother. He is the British government, and has access to all kinds of data, so-"

"_The Iceman_. Now I know. Father always called him that, I just didn't think he was your brother... Does he know you're alive?" I interrupt again, but this time Sherlock glares.

"No, he doesn't, and he won't. He'd be a complete pain, it's much easier without him knowing." He sounds bored and annoyed, but I don't stop.

"Yes he will. With him we will have easy access to all kinds of all kind of classified information, and we won't be on the run any more. Our deal is off if he doesn't know," I threaten Sherlock, but he just laughs.

"What do I care?" He asks in a smug voice.

"You care, because I have access to nearly all files on Father's computer. You care, because I have access to all the surveillance. You care, because I know Moran and two of the threads. You care because of Dr Watson. Do you really want to do this alone? You won't be able to. You don't know what to look for, who to threaten, who to bribe, how to do this. But I do, and does Mycroft as well. So?"

His eyes have gone wide during my little speech. He underestimated me and my information, and I hope he doesn't any more.

Sherlock nods, and I know he agrees to my plan and to tell Mycroft. The rest of the night goes smoothly without another row.

**Well, what do you think? Please R&R, all of you, they motivate me so much!**


	7. The Holmes Manor

**Okay, here's chapter seven! Thanks for the support, everyone, it is nice to know that someone actually reads this :D**

Telling Mycroft was fun, I remember when I sit in the chair Mycroft's assistant gave me. Sherlock and Mycroft are making something like my fail-safe app for Sherlock's phone, but only with some information of Mycroft's computer.

Sherlock had told me where Mycroft would be. With my little handgun I had stopped him when he came out of the toilet, and asked him whether 'dear Myco wanted to go on a walk with me'. I hadn't left him much choice and he had been confused because of the Myco-comment, so he had come quietly. I had led him to the small hotel-room Sherlock and I had rented out for the week, and after I had locked the door I said Sherlock's name loudly, much to Mycroft's confusion. Just before he had asked me though, Sherlock had come into the room and greeted his brother. Mycroft had sat down quickly and asked for an explanation, but had laughed afterwards and told us to come to his office with him, where we are now.

The first two persons we want to attack are a big thread called Jennifer Stone and her deputy James Smith. I have met them both, they are dangerous, intelligent individuals, and I hope neither Sherlock nor Mycroft make the mistake of underestimating them.

Sherlock and Mycroft plan it all. Thanks to my app we know pretty well where Stone and Smith are going to be, but we always have a backup plan. We can't risk failing once and then waiting for too long.

Anthea is annoyed with me. I am teasing her the whole time, telling her jokes and funny anecdotes which she can't help but laugh about. She thinks I am immature and childish, but she's allowed to do so. I stole her phone at least three times, after all. The hazelnut-coffee I asked her for is put on the little table next to my chair and when I look up I see Anthea and her phone. Weird, she is. I am slightly jealous of her ability to walk in high heels without stumbling, let alone texting the whole time. Or whatever she is doing.

I sigh loudly for like the fifth time and look around. Mycroft and Sherlock wanted me to plan with them, but I declined. I can't be bothered with it, I am far too impatient. I will rely on Sherlock when the time comes.

Sherlock and I have a weird relationship. We aren't friends. We aren't enemies. I wouldn't say that I don't trust him, I'd just say that I am careful. The night in Paris was two weeks ago. Sherlock has got to known me better, but I am still as clueless about him as I was before. He lived in another flat for the time, but that's going to change. Mycroft says that we need to know each other better, and I agree. We are going to live in the family home of the Holmes, and Sherlock is annoyed about that. I am curious. I have no idea about his background, and I want to know.

The car we are sitting in is beautiful. Black, shiny, big. Black leather seats, tinted windows. I only know we are going to the Holmes Manor, but I can't see anything. After twenty minutes the car slows down and Sherlock, who is sitting next to me, sighs.

"What's up, genius?" I tease, and he frowns.

"Kiara, I-"

"Relax, it was a joke... So, really, what's up?" I ask.

"This is where I grew up. It is... different to what you might expect and also not a very nice place for me."

For the next five minutes he is quiet.

When the car stops, my door is opened by one of the drivers, as well as Sherlock's. I look at him, but he just gets out. I follow and stare in amazement when I see the house. Or rather, really the manor. It is huge. Victorian. Impressive.

The sandstone makes a beautiful contrast to the surprisingly blue sky, the big windows mirror everything around us.

Sherlock leads me to the door and knocks. I giggle when a man in a plain black suit opens. He is about sixty, with a strict, but kind face and grey hair. This is so old-school. Big house, butler, house-maids?

"Master Sherlock. Master Mycroft already told me you'd be coming with your companion, he'll be here for dinner." He greets us and takes our coats.

"Thomas, this is Kiara Moriarty. Please refer to her, if you give any information to anybody, as Johnson, for her protection. My old rooms?" Sherlock is completely at ease in his role. It makes me wonder. He told me he didn't like it here, but he seems to know Thomas well and like him. His parents were the problem then. Sadly they often are, and I am happy that Father wasn't.

The butler nods and Sherlock walks towards a big staircase. I just follow him and look at everything, while he seems to be very sure of where he's going and not bothering to look at the paintings.

Finally we reach two doors. They are dark and wooden, and very heavy. Sherlock opens the first and goes inside. The room behind is strange. It is Victorian, with a big four-poster-bed, rugs everywhere, dark wood – but also modern. There is a massive TV-screen on the wall opposite the bed, a DVD and CD collection beneath it, various gaming equipment like Wi, Playstation and xBox with games and controllers and a laptop on the desk.

"This is your room," Sherlock tells me, "Mine is next door. Be downstairs at seven."

I just stare after him. Well, that was rude. I frown and shake my head, but can't stay angry. This room is amazing. I go through a door at the other side of the room and see the bathroom. As everything here, it is big. Bathing tube, shower, toilet, two sinks, and a whole lot of products. Strange. Even my favourite shampoo and make-up is here.

I wash my face and brush my hair, and then look into the mirror. It's the first time I really see myself without make-up in a good, big mirror. I look different to what I remember. My face isn't as round as before and I look older. My skin is still as pale as it used to be, but I have some freckles on my nose. My lips are fuller and my eyes are slightly bigger and have a different shape. It's nearly invisible, but there.

I look older, a bit sad and if I had seen too much for my age. I had, definitely. My hair is a mess. Although it is brushed, it isn't very healthy. Probably because of the last ten months.

With a sigh I exit the bathroom and my room, and knock on Sherlock's door.

"Come in!" he calls and I enter.

The room looks the same as mine, but there is one more door. I guess it is where he used to sleep, as he said to Thomas that we'd stay where he lived, but I don't dare ask or look. He doesn't look up when I come in, and neither when I sit next to him on his bed. It's strange. He is in his Pjs, something I have never seen on him before. He isn't doing anything, not on his phone, not on his laptop, nothing.

"What are you doing?" I ask him, when he doesn't do anything else to acknowledge my presence.

"Thinking."

"What about?"

"John."

It is unusual that he is so open and so not rude, that I am a bit taken aback. I had expected him to brush it off or ignore the question, but he doesn't.

"We'll find Moran. And then you can go home."

I don't say that I don't know what I am going to do, whether I'll go to follow Father's footsteps or live alone or kill myself, as I had planned before I met Sherlock in Paris, but I think he heard it anyway, even though he doesn't comment on it.

"Yes, but how long will it take? My mind-palace is the perfect storage room, I'm used to noticing and remembering every single little detail. And now I go into John's room, and I find the image of him, the one you showed me. It's driving me mad, I can't delete it, how can you people live with this?"

I hold him after his rant, and to my surprise, he only stiffens slightly, but doesn't pull away.

"I don't know, Sherlock. I don't know..."

He chuckles quietly and we sit in peace.

**So, what did you think? Also, I've got a question to you. I already know roughly _who _Kiara and Sherlock are going to face, but I have no idea how! Please, comment with ideas, like cases, what should happen, how, when, etc. I really need them to continue, I already have the end but not this part!**

**Thanks guys :D**

**~Valkyrie**


	8. Food

**Firstly, I am so, so sorry for the long wait, I had kind of a writers block on this part of the story and was writing an a part nearer the end... Yes, I have already written that, but I have trouble with this middle part, them hunting down the threads. Any ideas? Anyway, let's get on with chapter eight!**

Dinner is served nearly two hours later, and I can only stare. Even though we are only three people, Mycroft, Sherlock and me, there is a cold buffet as well as a warm one. The tables are full with all kinds of cheese, strong, mild, in at least five different colours, all kinds of meat are on plates, salami, ham, pâté, chicken breast cut in thin slices, grapes make a strange contrast with their green plumpness, shining slightly in the light. On the next table there are are little plates with dips, sauces, cream cheese and cut vegetable as well as some crackers. In the basket there are different kinds of bread, white, brown, really dark ones, toast, freshly baked bread, bagels, smelling deliciously.

In the bowls and little pots and pans are soups, a mild sauce and some meat, as well as vegetables and herbs, put together beautifully. Mushrooms and beans and broccoli and potatoes make my mouth water, and while Mycroft and Sherlock are just sitting down, I am still looking around, until Mycroft calls me.

"Miss Moriarty, sit down, will you, please?"

I blush slightly and sit down, and am surprised when the butler, Thomas, comes to the table with a tray with cups, saucers, tea, milk, sugar, hot-chocolate and coffee.

Twenty minutes later I lean back, enjoying the last bites of my dinner. Even though I had wanted to only small portions and had cheated sometimes, I still managed to try everything and feel comfortably full now. Sherlock has stopped eating ten minutes ago, to my surprise he actually ate something, and we are both smirking about the huge amount of food that is still on Mycroft's plate.

Nearly an hour later we are sitting in Mycroft's study. It is a nice room, big, but not overly so, and classic. We are all looking at the big, flat computer screen, where Mycroft has pictures of potential suspects, people, who could know where Jennifer Stone and her deputy James Smith are.

I have never seen any of them before, and that sets us back a lot. I am the only real connection Mycroft and Sherlock have to the threads because I am the only one who has or had contacts or memories with them.

After ten more minutes I go to bed.

My phone wakes me in the morning. It's still dark outside, so I just touch the screen until the ringing stops because I just can't be bothered to get up.

The next time I wake up is because of Sherlock. The sudden cold when he pulls the blanket away makes me jump, and instinctively I hit him. Only barely he blocks it, but it obviously still hurts and he knocks my phone down in the process.

"Sherlock, what the hell!"

My heart is beating incredibly fast, I could have killed him! He looks surprised and slightly shocked, I don't think he expected me to react like that. But he forgot that I am the daughter of Jim Moriarty, the consulting criminal. I was trained my whole life, that were instincts.

"My god, Kiara!" He tries to hide it, but his voice sounds shaky.

"Sherlock, you can't just wake me up like that!" I am breathing heavily and lean down to pick my phone up. I quickly look at the screen to check whether it's all right and not broken, when I see what's on it.

"Sherlock. Sherlock, look!" I breathe and I can't help smiling. When my phone woke me up before, I had, to turn it off, touched the screen. I must have touched the fail-safe app, because that was exactly where I was.

And right at the top was a button called 'Network'.

**I hope you liked it, just leave a review if you do, the next chapter will hopefully be longer and come quicker...**

**~Valkyrie**


	9. The Network

**You still remember me? A miracle, I know... I'm sorry about the length and how late this chapter is and thatthere's no action, but it will be there next time!**

Both Sherlock and Mycroft are standing behind me, I'm sitting in Mycroft's chair in his office. Sherlock had been the first to try and take the phone away from me, but I had demanded that I would be the one with the phone. Eventually, both Holmes brothers had agreed. And I wanted to sit in Mycroft's chair ever since I first saw it.

In the folder called Network is a huge amount of other apps, folders, documents, pictures, videos and maps. I go through all of them, through every folder because we can't risk not looking at something. It takes hours, but the two shadows behind me stay. Around lunchtime my eyes are burning, I'm tired and I'm hungry. To my surprise it's not only Sherlock who protests, but also Mycroft.

"Kiara, we can't stop! We still need to look through a quarter of the content, it would only take a few hours..." Sherlock's voice is pleading, but by now I know him well enough to know that it's fake. I can understand him, he wants to find and destroy the threads, but we do have the twenty minutes I need for lunch.

"Exactly. Mycroft, I'm astonished that you can resist the lure of the food, are you on a diet?" Mycroft frowns and Sherlock smirks, so I continue. "If either of you tries to look through it without me, I'll be really cross, so you better don't even try. I know, I'll take it with me. And you, Sherlock, are going to eat something."

The atmosphere in the dining room is kind of tense. Sherlock is annoyed, I told him that he needed to eat and apparently the contents of my phone were enough incentive. Both him, and to my surprise, Mycroft, aren't really enjoying the meal, I can see, they are waiting for me to finish. I don't really mind. Today the kitchen has made an enormous amount of food, and as neither of us has eaten anything for breakfast, I have decided to honour this meal correctly.

The buffet is mostly cold. There are three different soups, tomato, potato and a chicken-and-leek soup. They are the only hot things.

Then there are, again, many different kinds of bread, fluffy white or brown bread, in thick or thin slices, normal, but obviously very expensive toast, French baguette, strange, nearly black German bread which actually tastes slightly of syrup and is amazing, and many more, which I haven't tried so far. Salted and normal butter are next to the margarine, then there are all kinds of marmalade and jam and at least five different kinds of honey. The chocolate spread isn't far away either.

On the next table there are vegetables and fruit, the usual stuff, but also things I have never seen before. The meat plate is huge, as is the cheese one, and the fish plate is only slightly smaller.

Finally I eat the last bite and ask one of the staff for an espresso. I usually don't like them, but I hope that the caffeine will keep me awake.

After exactly twenty minutes we are in Mycroft's study again. After three more hours, we're through it all. I groan and exit the Fail-safe app. Sherlock is already on one of the other chairs in his thinking pose and Mycroft is yawing. As I'm stretching, Sherlock, surprisingly, speaks.

"Don't relax yet, Kiara, we have only seen the rough outlines of it all, not every fine detail-"

"I don't care, this is enough for the day. We know where the information about Stone and Smith is, so either, you do the planning now and we discuss it tomorrow, or we do the plan together tomorrow, but I am going to my room and relax. You might be two complete machines, but that doesn't mean everybody is."

My dramatic exit is destroyed by me stumbling because of the exhaustion, and the shocked silence is broken by Sherlock's chuckle.

"DIE, you idiot!"

I don't notice Sherlock coming in as I'm currently killing a guard in Assassin's Creed. It's actually pretty good. Since I do actually know how to kill people with knifes it's sometimes a bit ridiculous, but it is, most of the time, pretty relaxing.

"Erm – Kiara?" Sherlock's voice pulls me out of Florence in the Renaissance, so I pause and look up to him.

"Sherlock, I didn't hear you coming in... What's up?"

He still looks a bit shocked because of what I said when he came in so I smile.

"Don't worry, I was just killing this guard. I think I actually want one of these hidden blades, they are so cool – But really, what's up?"

"I heard you verbally abusing the TV, I was wondering why. And..." His voice quietens at the end, and from the way he looks down and not at me a understand what he wants.

Wordlessly I pull my phone out and click through the buttons until I reach the surveillance of 221B.

**Okay, what do you think? Review please! Just a quick one, pleeeaaase? Anyway, see you next time!**


End file.
